Inshallah

“Inshallah.” This is what Amira said the last time I spoke with her and asked if she wanted to go to college. Her father, my friend Hagag, had handed her the telephone. I sensed that she deeply would like to go on with higher education, but is also aware of her family’s needs. They share a difficult life in Luxor, Egypt with deep bonds of love.

Inshallah means “God willing” or “if God wills it.” It is an Arabic language expression. When I am in Egypt I hear it used frequently, and also, alhamd lilah which means “thanks be to God.”

I have raised money for Amira to go to college. Perhaps it was simple minded of me to offer to help in this way without consulting in depth with Hagag. The family has so many pressing needs. The oldest son had to go into the army after graduation since no money existed for college. He is out now, after serving two years. There are four other children. Amira, the oldest daughter, is about to take college qualifying exams.

Iyah, the youngest daughter, Edleah and Amira

Hagag has a spinal disk problem and needs surgery. He is almost disabled and has trouble doing work on his tiny plot of land along the Nile River. Edleah, the mother, has eye problems. Add to this that the refrigerator is broken and they have no money to fix it or buy a new one. The entire family lives on about two dollars a day—yet if you were to arrive at their home they would welcome you to sit and serve you tea with the utmost kindness.

The last several times I have spoken with Hagag about money and college for Amira, he has sounded unhappy. “Edleah needs eye surgery. The doctor said it is very important.”

I have a new friend, Hazem, who is Egyptian and speaks fluent English. He has a daughter attending college in the USA. We have not met personally, but were introduced through someone I know in Santa Fe. I needed someone who speaks Arabic to talk more in depth with Hagag. Hazem has now personally met Hagag and the family. He reports that Hagag insists that the most pressing emergency is saving the mother’s eyesight.

Edleah and the youngest child, Bilal   (December 2017)

Look how much clearer Bilal's eyes are . . .

I have prayed about what to do. The surgery is a little more expensive than the year of college. But I also learned that college is not as expensive as thought. Public institutions are quite cheap. It is the room and board that adds up—but that can be alleviated by sharing.

At this point, it is me saying inshallah . . .

A Thousand Candles

 

Amira seemed timid and mysterious during my first visits to her home in Luxor several years ago. After all, I was a stranger from America who did not share her Egyptian life or speak her language. What might I be thinking of her poor, humble earth home and impoverished family? Her father, Hagag, and I were becoming friends. Each day I walked on the dusty dirt road along the Nile River to be with him, his wife Edleah and five children.

Mother, grandmother and daughter—Amira. Three year ago in 2014.

Bilal, the youngest, age 3, often ran around with nothing on but a t-shirt. He sparkled like a gem—full of happy exuberance, whether playing with cats, racing about the compound, or being at my side. His mother was amused when he scolded her to go away so that he could have me for himself as playmate.

Mohammed, the oldest son, took me on a sojourn to a nearby village. I sat atop the family donkey while he walked beside. He spoke enough English to allow us to converse. Amira had just reached the age to cover her head with a scarf. She could only glance at me shyly in passing. Nubi, the next oldest boy seemed shy and aloof. Iyah, the youngest girl was bubbly and playful, her reddish-brown curly hair pulled back and tied behind her head. She looked curiously at me while smiling in delight.

I came to know and love the entire family, and the grandmother too.

Three years later, last December, I arrived again in Luxor and stayed for three weeks. Mohammed had gone into the army. He could not avoid it since the family had no money for college. He returned home for a week while I visited. In the army he earns one dollar per day and must pay for his uniform and shoes. The family cannot afford it, but pays for his bus trips home and back to his army post. He only has a few months of his two year service left. After that he said, “I want to work and help my family.”


My time in Luxor was split between my friend Hagag’s family and my other Egyptian friend Abul’ Ezz and his big family. Hagag is poorer than Ezz, but by American standards they both are quite poor. Yet such heart in these people! I feel humble in their presence.

Edleah and Hagag. 2017

Hagag is a farmer with a tiny plot of greens. He has a bad back that needs surgery but labors on. The children have grown and with this visit opened up to me. Bilal wanted to be sure he was not asleep if I were coming. Iyah made drawings—including my portrait. Nubi gave me rides on the donkey cart if I was going on to Ezz’s home. Amira stopped her studies to look deeply into my eyes and speak a little in English.

Women, on bread baking day.

I always had my camera and the families accepted my picture taking.

Amira is coming of age, finishing secondary school. She is bright, honest and pure hearted. Her hope is to attend college and study business or accounting. But it is impossible for the family to afford.

All four children sleep in one small room. Amira’s bed is a straw mat spread upon the hard earth floor. The others sleep togerther on cushions on simple divans. Perhaps Amira sleeps on the earth because of her age—because she is a young woman. There is no complaint in her.

I told Amira I would be sure she can go to college. Her heart soared and it was as if a thousand candles lit within her breast. Such a smile of gratitude. I imagine her at college, ardent in her studies, sharing a room with another student, and with a bed to sleep in.